A moment of relative calm intruded into the tempest of war. Bolt-gun fire petered out, surrendering to the quieter background fury of discharging ship cannons and returning impacts. The Vengeful Spirit shook as it fought, but the lack of atmosphere made the deck weirdly quiet, quiet enough for Bjorn's own breathing to sound loudly in the confines of his helmet, quiet enough for him to become aware of a pressure inside his head. Beneath the rumble of his twin hearts he could hear, or thought he could hear, a hundred whispered voices.

Bror Tyrfingr had warned the Rout about the maleficarum that afflicted the flagship. Every warrior bore protective runes blessed by the gothi. Bjorn looked at the stamped lead ovals tied by cord to his wrist. They showed hot in his helm's thermal overlay though the temperature in the embarkation deck had dropped close to the killing chill of the void.

He would have spat if he had his face free of the helm. Instead he touched the lead panels for luck, took out his combat knife, and carved a warding eye into the lintel over the bunker door.

The voices didn't like that: they spoke louder, almost loud enough for him to hear. If he could just catch what they were saying… A dirty taste filled his mouth, choking him, pressing against the back of his eyes.

The vox buzzed in his ears, startling him away from the lure of the maleficarum. The voices vanished. He shook his head. The feeling of uncleanness would not lift. Shakily, he sheathed his knife. Russ' growl reached out to the task force.

'To your tasks, my Wolves,' he said. 'Wreak destruction where you can, bring the murder-make to every corner of this corrupted vessel. Ignite the pride of my brother. Cause such havoc he will come willingly to my spear. Lure him out. Bring him to me!'

The vox clicked as it switched to a private channel.

'Bjorn, to my side,' Russ said to Bjorn alone. 'Don't leave my sight again. Our wyrd is entwined. Fate demands you fight with me.'

Chastened by the tone in the Lord of Winter and War's voice, Bjorn went to rejoin his primarch.

Bror Tyrfingr fought with his brothers again.

He dropped ten metres from the tilted mouth of his boarding torpedo onto the space beside the ventral gun deck's ammunition runnel. The boom of his impact on the deck plating would have woken the dead. Thralls scattered before him, terrified by the Vi's arrival.

Mechanicum overseers in black and red whirled scourges over heads, driving emaciated gun crews at the boarders. Bror made sure to drop a few with his bolt pistol before he smashed into the crowd. The sheer mass of the crew delayed the Space Wolves while alarms called for reinforcement from better troops.